


Trembling

by TetrodotoxinB



Series: Whumptober 2019 [20]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Day 20, Low Blood Sugar, Minor medical assistance, Prompt: Trembling, Whumptober 2019, steve is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 20:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21105257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: Steve learns that he can't out stubborn himself.





	Trembling

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [Secret_Library98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secret_Library98/pseuds/Secret_Library98).

Steve’s first clue that maybe he hasn’t been particularly careful about his body’s needs is the dizziness. But he’s in the middle of a foot pursuit for a guy they’ve been trying to catch for _weeks._ Honestly, after BUD/S and then Afghanistan, Steve’s felt a helluva lot worse than dizziness so he pushes through.

After using a garbage can lid like a frisbee and hitting their perp square in the back, it’s only a matter of a solid flying tackle and some zipties to close their case. Steve grins up at Danny from where he’s kneeling by the perp, pleased as punch with the resolution of this particular encounter, and says, “Book him, Danno.”

Danny groans, rolls his eyes, and says, “Ugh.” 

Danny promptly hands the scraped up car thief to a uniformed officer and offers Steve a hand up.

“You’re a lunatic,” Danny mutters.

Steve brushes off his palms and then the dizziness makes an abrupt return. He stumbles, grabbing for Danny as the world seems to go wobbly beneath his feet.

“Steve?” Danny asks with his “we’re not playing anymore so answer my damn questions” voice.

“Dizzy,” is the only response Steve manages before stumbling away from Danny to vomit. Nothing comes up but a little water and coffee.

“I need medics!” Danny shouts to the uniformed officers on site.

Steve disagrees entirely with that assessment. Now that he’s thrown up, he feels a bit more clear headed and somewhat less dizzy, though his stomach is still in knots. Again, Steve reflects that BUD/S was murder yet no one called him a medic then, but Danny is clearly not be dissuaded. 

“Babe, you’re shaking. Sit down,” Danny directs. Steve can hear the concern in Danny’s voice and he’s so tired that he actually relents, telling himself that it’s just because he doesn’t want to worry Danny any more than he already is.

Danny’s hands are like vices around Steve’s arms and he forces Steve — who is admittedly trembling a bit — over to sit on a nice patch of gravel where he can lean against the wall of a pawn shop. Steve leans his head back against the wall and rests, closing his eyes.

“McGarrett.”

Steve opens his eyes to see Jojo, everyone’s favorite purple-haired paramedic. “Hey, Jo. Howzit?”

“Better for me than you, pal. What’s going on? You look like shit.”

Steve chuckles and his stomach rolls. “Low blood sugar I think.”

“You think?” Jojo asks, raising their pierced eyebrow. “When was the last time you ate?”

Steve takes a moment to sort his very fuzzy thoughts while Jojo takes his blood pressure. “Last night?” He realizes that his brain is mostly mud which isn’t great by any standard.

“Smooth. Alright, anything you drank today? Coffee? Juice? Red bull?”

“Black coffee. That was maybe…” Steve realizes he has no idea when that was or what time it is currently.

“About four hours ago,” Danny informs Jojo.

“Great so you’ve had black coffee today. I’m assuming that you’re aware that coffee isn’t in any of the food groups, right?”

Danny snorts and Steve nods weakly. “Yeah, I think I heard that in health class once.”

Jojo scrubs Steve’s finger tip with an alcohol swab. “I’m gonna poke you. I like my face. No hitting.”

“Understood, Mx. Greene,” Steve replies. He probably couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a shotgun in this state but he doesn’t say that out loud since Danny is already going to lay into him the moment they’re in the Camaro, if not before.

“Well, you’re coming in at a whopping 68, which is definitely not healthy. I’ve got some glucose tablets in my bag that you’re going to eat, and then we’re going to check where you’re at in about fifteen minutes. And before you ask, no you cannot leave until I tell you you’re clear,” Jojo declares as they press the aforementioned tablets into Steve’s hand.

Carefully, so as not to drop the tablets from his trembling hand, Steve jams them in his mouth and chews. 

“So, what all have you done today without eating?” Jojo asks while they wait.

“I got up to do my morning run and swim. I got the call as I was on my way back to the house that we had a lead on our perp so I went home, got cleaned up, and headed to the office. After that we drove around Honolulu for about three hours chasing down leads and then we ended up here,” Steve recounts.

“And you didn’t think to eat at any point?” Danny grouses. “Unbelievable. You are absolutely unbelievable. What? Did you just think that you would photosynthesize the needed nutrients?”

Jojo is snickering and doing an absolutely miserable of covering it, if indeed they’re actually trying to hide it. And, while Danny yelling at Steve in front of eight uniformed officers, Duke, Jojo, and the rest of 5-0 isn’t particularly flattering, Steve has a hard time caring because he feels so dead, but also, he knows that he deserves it.

Slowly, the sensation of being unpleasantly drunk begins to fade and Steve’s brain de-fogs like a windshield on a winter morning in Kandahar. He readjusts since the gravel is beginning to do a number on his butt and finds that the ground is quite solid and stationary. 

“You’re looking more alive. How’re you feeling?” Jojo asks.

“Much better, thanks,” Steve responds. “The dizziness, nausea, and brain-fog are gone.”

“Oh, no, my friend. You always have brain-fog,” Danny interrupts. “Jo, do you know how I know that he has perma-brain-fog?”

Jojo shakes their head as they wipe down another one of Steve’s finger tips. “I don’t but you should definitely tell me.”

“Last week, Steve dove off a pier at low tide in full tactical gear. That’s an extra twenty pounds of gear, not counting the inevitable weight of water-logged clothes and combat boots. He could have hit the bottom, but does this idiot care? No. And you know what he did after that?” Danny asks. He’s on a roll now and Jojo just laughs.

“I don’t but please do tell me,” they respond, pricking Steve’s finger again..

“This neanderthal wrestles the guy in the middle of a busy harbor, dodging boats-”

“Ships,” Steve corrects, which earns him a glare.

_“-boats,”_ Danny repeats, doubling down just to piss off Steve. “And then he handcuffs the guy, in the water, and drags him all the way back to the pier. Jo he’s an absolute lunatic.”

“You’re not wrong. That’s pretty stupid, McGarrett,” they concur. “But alas I can no longer keep you from your irresponsible plans later today because your blood sugar is now 81. Go eat a solid meal and then sleep before I have to do more than stuff glucose tabs into you.”

Steve smiles, suddenly very hungry. “Thanks, Jo. I appreciate your help.”

“No problem. Just go take care of yourself,” Jojo orders with a laugh.

Steve stands and takes a moment to lean against the building as his blood pressure equalizes. 

“You good or do you need a fainting couch?” Danny snipes.

“Shut up, Danny. I’m fine. Besides, SEALs don’t faint-”

“-they just lose consciousness,” Danny finishes in unison with Steve. 

Steve grins and Danny groans and turns to Jojo who’s already walking away. “Do you see what I have to deal with?” he shouts.

Jojo laughs. “Better you than me, brah!”

“You’re no help!” Danny shouts back.

Steve chuckles. “So Waikiki coffee house? I’m feeling a big stack of pancakes.”

Danny shakes his head. “You would. You nearly die from low blood sugar and now you want pancakes. Only you. You’re going to give me a heart attack from stress, do you realize that? Grace will be without a father and it’ll be your fault.”

“I’ll just get Rachel to let me have her every other weekend if you’re dead,” Steve says, knowing it will trigger a major Danny-rant. 

As predicted Danny blows his top while they walk the eight blocks back to the Camaro, shouting at Steve so loud that there’s a call that goes out over the police radio for a possible altercation. It takes them a minute to realize that _they’re_ the public nuisance call and then Steve has to sheepishly call-in to explain that, “No, no one is fighting, Detective Williams is just ripping me a new one. Yes, ma’am. We’ll tone it down. Yes, ma’am, thank you for your concern.”

“Serves you right,” Danny mutters as they climb into the Camaro. 

“So pancakes?” Steve asks, accepting his place in the passenger seat with minimal grumbling given his current state.

“Yes, pancakes, you giant buffoon. God, I’m going to need so much coffee to manage you,” Danny mutters.

“Coffee?” Steve asks, bypassing entirely the topic of Danny “managing” him. “You know that’s not in any food group, right?”

“I will drive this car into the ocean, Steven!” Danny shouts and Steve cackles happily, even if he is stuck in the passenger’s seat for the time being.


End file.
